


Permanently

by WhichWolfWins



Series: Your Name Tattooed Across My Heart [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Interlude, M/M, Punklock, Tattoos, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 22:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhichWolfWins/pseuds/WhichWolfWins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John falls in love, he knows it's forever.</p><p>Or, the one where John gets his first tattoo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Permanently

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Seimein](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seimein/gifts).



> This fic is in no way brit-picked or beta'd, so if you see any mistakes, they are my own and I would love for you to inform me of them! :)
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and the BBC, and anyone else involved with the making and producing of this show. This is in no way mine; these are their toys and I am simply playing with them.
> 
>    
> *I never even thought to write this, but Seimein wished for the tattoo scene and the story wrote itself. Wish granted!*

Sherlock’s head was warm on his chest and his hand was resting on John’s belly. He was sleeping soundly, breathing hot breath against John’s nipple through his shirt. John loved it when Sherlock slept, because he was clingy in a way he would never allow himself to be in the waking world. Sherlock was a closet big spoon. He didn’t want to be the type of person that held on to another, he’d said once, in different words that meant the same thing. It was toward the beginning of them, during one of their first fights. He could easily walk away, Sherlock had claimed. But he hadn’t.

John realized now that Sherlock hadn’t left not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t. He would never admit it, but Sherlock had been holding onto John just as tightly as John was to him. 

John brushed his fingers through Sherlock’s red and black curls as he slept and he knew then that this was what it felt like to be in love. He’d been with many girls before Sherlock, some he’d even been convinced he was in love with, but as he lay there with Sherlock resting over his heart, he knew that whatever he had felt for those girls, it was not this. It didn’t even come close. This feeling swelling in his chest was nothing he’d ever felt before. 

It was dark in their room. The wall-length windows were covered over with thick black curtains, but a stream of light peeked through where the curtains were parted slightly. He could see Sherlock by the light of the moon and he knew that, no matter what, he always wanted this. 

When they first moved in together, Sherlock didn’t sleep much, and when he did it was on the sofa. Even after they came together, after John held him to his chest and ran his hand up and down his back, Sherlock would always climb out of their bed before John fell asleep and John would find him in the morning on the sofa, if he’d decided to sleep at all. 

It started with utter exhaustion. Sherlock had been tired, but he’d been horny, too, and he’d rode John fast, trying to get off as quickly as possible. Afterward, Sherlock had barely made it off of John’s lap before he was asleep. It happened quite a few times like that. They ran through the streets of London, then they'd tumble onto their bed with adrenaline racing through their veins. They’d be utterly exhausted, but they’d always peel each other out of their clothes and have each other quickly. 

John knew it was an excuse for Sherlock to fall asleep beside him. Sherlock rarely admitted to anything willingly, and wanting to sleep next to John was one of those strange things that Sherlock seemed to think was ‘not good’. As if, by admitting to wanting to be close to John, he was weak. 

One night, having had enough, John had waited until one of the nights when Sherlock went to climb out of their bed, then he’d turned to him and caught his wrist before Sherlock could slip away. “Stay,” John had requested, and Sherlock had looked at him, hesitating between pulling free and sinking back into the sheets. “I would like you to stay.” 

In the near pitch black of their room, John was discovering what love felt like, and he needed so badly not to be alone in it. With his heart lodged in his throat, John shook Sherlock gently until he began to stir. There was a spot of drool on John’s shirt, damp over his nipple. 

Sherlock blinked up at John, his brow furrowing as he slowly woke. “What’s wrong?” he asked, sounding groggy yet concerned. 

“Nothing,” John told him, because good God, nothing was. “I love you.” 

Sherlock’s body stilled in his arms and the room was silent for a long moment. John could hear cars passing by outside. Sherlock looked up at him with wide eyes, blinking in the quiet before he balled his hands in John’s shirt and leaned over him. He kissed John, surprisingly chaste and soft and slow. He held onto John’s shirt and kissed him for a long time. 

His weight settled on top of John and he wrapped his arms around him. He kissed the side of John’s neck up to his ear. His lips brushed lightly against it. His warm breath tickled. “Promise.” 

John smiled down at Sherlock. “I can do better than that.” 

Sherlock chuckled quietly, burrowing his head into John’s neck. “How so?” 

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” John told him, turning and kissing the top of Sherlock’s head. “Go back to sleep, love.” 

“Love,” Sherlock murmured into John’s skin, smiling. He held onto John with his lips pressed to his skin and soon his breaths returned to rhythmic. 

It was a few days later that John texted Sherlock an address. When his boyfriend showed up, he frowned at John sitting with his shirt off on a chair in a tattoo parlour. The tattoo artist, a guy named Gareth - whose son Sherlock had helped find a few months earlier - laughed at the look on his face. “Sit down, mate.” 

Sherlock sank into the nearest chair and stared as Gareth applied the outline for the tattoo onto John’s chest, right over his heart. He peeled away the paper and Sherlock looked up at John with a stricken look on his face. “You can’t be serious.” 

“I am,” John told him, grinning. “Very.” 

The design was rather simple. It was of Sherlock’s name in an elegant script that flowed rather beautifully with the contours of John’s chest. 

“All right?” John asked, looking hopeful as he studied Sherlock from his chair. 

Sherlock’s brow furrowed and he stood up with a scrape of his chair. He quickly exited the room without a word. 

When John found him, Sherlock was standing outside the tattoo parlour with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He watched John as he neared with his lips pressed tightly together. 

“Sherlock?” John asked as he got to him. “What’s wrong?” 

Sherlock shook his head, glancing away from him. “Nothing.” 

John barked a laugh. “It doesn’t seem like nothing.” 

A shaky frown pressed down Sherlock’s mouth. John realized Sherlock’s face was trembling. He stepped closer and put his hand on his elbow, turning Sherlock toward him. “What is it?” he asked, taking gentle hold of Sherlock’s wrists as he looked up at him. His mouth was wavering between a frown and a sad-looking smile. 

Sherlock breathed through his nose a reluctant, trembling sound and he opened his mouth. “You promise?” he asked, his voice breaking. 

John smiled softly and raised Sherlock’s hands to kiss his knuckles. He released them to take Sherlock’s face in his hands. “Of course,” he said, laughing. He kissed Sherlock softly and pulled away. “Of course,” he said again. 

A cool breeze parted John’s unbuttoned shirt and pebbled his nipples. Sherlock looked down and reached up toward him. He brushed his fingers lightly over one of John’s nipples, a small smirk on his face, before touching the temporary lines on John’s chest. “I love you, John.” 

A smile crept up on John's face. “Oh god, I would hope so,” he said, grinning up at Sherlock. 

“Forever your’s,” Sherlock murmured, tracing his name on John's chest. "Permanently." 

John laughed and covered Sherlock’s cold fingers with his. That swelling feeling was back, his heart filled to bursting. 

“Come on, love,” he said, kissing Sherlock’s beautiful fingers. “I’m bloody freezing and Gareth isn’t going to wait forever with us.” 

Sherlock smiled, held on tightly to John’s strong fingers, and they walked hand-in-hand into the tattoo parlour.

**Author's Note:**

> If you can spare some time, I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> Also, if you want to follow me on tumblr, [ here ](http://whichwolfwins.tumblr.com/) I am!


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